After trying to sort out various hotel and ATM snafus, it's time to head to the Pizza Maggiore, just half-a-block away, to join more than a thousand people for a free outdoor screening of "Vera Cruz," the stunning Technicolor western directed by Robert Aldrich, starring Burt Lancaster, whose daughter Joanna charmingly introduces the film by narrating a slideshow of photographs of her exceedingly photogenic father. Il Cinema Ritrovato's artistic director, Peter von Bagh, compares the prescient and influential 1954 film to its successors, the spaghetti westerns of Sergio Leone and the brutal ones of Sam Peckinpah.
I can't count how many times I've seen the film, but this time I'm even more taken with the ivory slot of Lancaster's knowingly deployed smile and the lean elegance of Gary Cooper. (It's amazing how generous Lancaster is with his costars, considering he's one of the producers of the movie.) I'm also reminded of the wealth of character actors in the Golden Age of Hollywood: Jack Elam, Ernest Borgnine, Charles Bronson (as Charles Buchinsky), George Macready, Cesar Romero, and a host of others contribute, and there's so much depth in the field that Lancaster feels free to gun down a couple of familiar faces within minutes of their showing up.
It's a terrific movie. I'm happily reminded of the time in the seventies when I accidentally got to see Lancaster practicing quick-draws in the driveway of a Malibu beach house wearing only a red speedo and a leather holster -- the stuff that dreams are made of. But that's another story...And the time that Pauline Kael and I discussed Lancaster's supreme sexual assurance...And the time that my mother seemed uneasy that the bearded guy in the next booth at Musso and Franks was giving her the eye. I craned my neck around, turned back, and said "That's OK, Mom. It's Burt Lancaster."
I return to my cell revived.